


Death-Marked Love

by ash_filled_words



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Future, Explicit Language, F/M, Gangs, Inspired by Urbance, Shakespeare Feels, Violence, drug mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-02-07 22:24:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1916160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ash_filled_words/pseuds/ash_filled_words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over a decade ago, an unknown plague attacked humanity, spread solely through male-female sexual relations.  The world drastically changed.</p><p>Teenagers form gangs, turf wars boil in the sectors, and violence reigns.  One of those members, Eren Jaeger, strives to fight against the prison of his existence.  To bring about something better.</p><p>If he can survive...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Mutiny

**Author's Note:**

> So... the inspiration for this story comes from art and an amazing concept. First things first...
> 
> HdotK's Neon Boyfriends art ([here](http://hdotk.tumblr.com/post/85605540180/i-technically-made-this-for-5-12-jeanmarco-day-and), [here](http://hdotk.tumblr.com/post/85739974690/i-feel-like-the-neon-boyfriends-is-going-to-become-a), and [here](http://hdotk.tumblr.com/post/86092969405/lets-be-real-i-just-wanted-to-try-out-mareigs)) started this whole thing. In the comments on Tumblr for the first piece, someone linked an interesting animation project called [Urbance](http://steambotstudios.com/urbance), which is just freakishly awesome. Some headcanon talk with Dot, intense Shakespearean feels driving even more inspiration, and I couldn't resist writing this one.
> 
> Hope you like it Dot, this is for you, dearie.
> 
> Be warned... I'm not entirely sure at this juncture whether this will have a bad end or not. This is a very dystopian world full of dangers.

The world has changed drastically since the rise of the hetero-genetic plague. Couples and families were torn apart as male-female sex became illegal; the risk of spreading the virus was too great. Such a drastic shift gave rise to anarchy, turmoil, and pain.

Years of gender wars altered society, flipped norms on their heads, and made relationships that used to be acceptable into the most dangerous of all. Only certain love is allowed, for fear of death or far worse punishment. Some semblance of control was eventually restored, but the world was no longer what it had been.

Gangs control the gender restricted sectors, fighting for power, pushing against the boundaries, buying and selling souls and bodies (20 credits to lose yourself in the high for the night, or so they’d tell you). It was a powder keg just waiting for a match.

Enter stage right, the protagonist, or antagonist depending on your point of view… That would be me, Eren Jaeger. I saw the new world for what it was (a prison, a non-existence) and decided to fight for what it should be.

Love… the most powerful drug of all. And the most dangerous. Lives ruined, blood spilled on the pavement, all for the sake of a moment’s happiness. Was it worth it? I’ll let you decide.

My story starts in anger…

 

*************************

 

“You stupid fucking suicidal bastard! You broke my fucking nose!”

“You’re lucky that’s the worst of it, JK!”

“Let me at him!”

The struggle broke out anew as I tried to pull away from Reiner and Jean tried to get loose from Marco. It was futile, but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t know why the hell my blood was boiling so badly today, but it just was. Jean and I tend to argue a lot, especially about politics and this prison of an existence, but it rarely comes to blows. It did today.

“Rein, get him out of here. Fubar, get a towel for all this blood,” Marco was saying over our near-incoherent swearing.

“Jaeger, cool your fucking jets, you little sack of shit, or I will toss you on your ass,” Reiner warned me. I ignored him and spat blood in Jean’s direction. Asshole had knocked a tooth loose. “Fucking hell.” The huge blonde threw me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing and stalked out of the room, Jean yelling after us and trying to tear himself away from his boyfriend. I flipped him off and stuck out my blood covered tongue. I knew it was childish, but I didn’t care.

Outside the abandoned warehouse that was our gang’s hangout, Reiner dropped me to the ground in a heap and boxed both my gauged ears. It hurt. Almost as bad as the ache in my jaw. There may have been a yelp of pain. Maybe.

“Get the hell out of here for awhile, Jaeger. Walk it off. Listen to some tunes. Get something to eat. Don’t know what crawled up your ass and died, but you need to deal with it.” Reiner’s tone left no room for further argument, so I turned on my heels and left.

I tugged my bright orange headphones over the top of my cap, pulling the brim down low. The hangout was in a slightly shitty neighborhood and I wasn’t in the fucking mood to deal with any of the pushers who tended to haunt the back alleys. Not with my ears still ringing and a mouth full of blood. I spat again, leaving a pink mess on the pavement. Setting my music to something loud and angry, I shoved the transparent device into my pocket.

The tension nagging at me seemed to be mirrored in the very air of the city. The massive warehouses and factories blocked out much of the sky as I walked between them, black and neon yellow sneaks kicking at every pebble and piece of trash that dared to be in my way. It felt like there was a storm brewing, but I couldn’t see any clouds.

Hitting up my favorite food truck along the main drag, I doused the foil wrapped burrito in hot sauce and started wandering again. The pinpricks of anger were fading slightly, but every time food hit that sore tooth, I wanted to deck Jean all over again. He could never really understand, not entirely. Not when he had Marco.

This was no way to live, not really, for me. It was maddening. Most of the other Titans were the same, except Connie. His ideas of fighting the powers-that-be involved a high-powered laptop and his pirate radio station, not fists. The others? They could live in the new world order without denying a basic part of themselves.

It just wasn’t the same. We weren’t fighting for the same things. They didn’t feel as strongly. They just didn’t like the inequality, the poor conditions, and the lack of order where it counted (the pushers). They didn’t want to uproot all of society like me.

I growled, hands clenching in my pockets. The music changed, my pace matching it, moving with the pulse of the city and my slowly ebbing anger.

More and more two-legged _sheep_ were ambling in zombie-like herds along the sidewalks as I trekked into the center of the sector. Looks of contempt were turned my way as the ‘Normals’ in their plain clothing eyed my appearance, the bright neon colors (red, orange, and yellow) intermingling with blacks immediately flagging my gang status.

 _Well fuck you too,_ I thought, biting my thumb in the direction of any who bothered to meet my eyes. Being scorned was better than being brainless.

Packs of gang members prowled through the crowds, some in matching clothing; some, like me, were dressed in a mess of whatever looked good. A few eyed me, but did little other than refuse to move when we got close to one another. Stiffened shoulders clashed as we passed. If you flinched, they knew you were prey.

I never batted an eye, reveling in grunts of surprise when the hit was harder than they expected from my small frame.

The mass of humanity started thinning out. I almost didn’t notice that it was happening, didn’t see what people were moving away from. At least until I was practically on top of them.

Dyed skin, shaved heads, skin-tight black suits, and terrifying eyes behind bright yellow wrap-around glasses. Fucking **_Mediators_**. Lab-grown Secret Police freaks that looked closer to robots than real humans. Something about their dead-eyed gaze and lack of any distinguishing gender features. That, and knowing they could yank you off the street at _any_ time and you’d _never_ be seen or heard from again.

They _terrified_ me.

Two of the giant ones were flanking a shorter one as they stalked along the sidewalk. Even the sheep skittered away as far away as possible. All the gang members who had been so defiant moments before were dropping their eyes to the pavement, trying to blend in and not attract THEIR attention.

I barely managed to get out of their way before they pushed through. Ice-cold fear poured through my veins, like they could somehow sense that I was more than just some gang member, that I was also a hetero, a threat, one of the things they hunt. At least when we step out of line.

Trust me. You don’t want to know what they do to those who cross them.

Hiding my face, I tugged the bright red scarf I kept around my neck up over my mouth. I inched towards an alley, trying hold my head down and still (somehow) keep an eye on them. Not as easy as you’d think. So close to home free, inches from the corner, and they stopped. The short one held up its hands, holding the giants in place.

Its nostrils were flaring, like it could fucking _smell_ me. Catch wind of my defiance. In the back of my head, I _know_ they can’t, but hell if it doesn’t really look that way. As it shifted, turning, the dread froze me even deeper.

HZ. Emblazoned on its shoulder were bright green letters, the only color on the solid black suit. Mediators had no names, just letters or numbers. I had seen _those_ ones before. Seen **_that_** Mediator before. That night was forever burned into my memory.

The night they took my dad.

Screw subtle. No way am I waiting around to see if that… _thing_ will somehow figure out that I’m Grisha Jaeger’s son. I scrammed into the alley, breaking into an all-out sprint the second I was around the corner. If I was lucky, it would at least take them a few seconds to realize they had a runner. I never banked on luck though.

Rats digging through garbage piles squeaked in fear and scattered away from my pounding feet. Filthy puddles sent splatters of fuck-knows-what all over my pants. A burnt-out husk of a rotting car stood at the end of the alleyway in front of a 20 foot tall fence. I didn’t, couldn’t, look back, pouring every ounce of dread and energy into my legs, stretching my strides, and leaping any obstacle.

As I reached the fence and hopped onto the sagging metal of the car’s hood, I heard them.

“Only the guilty run!” The voice was chilling, almost gleeful. The wild, cackling laughter that came after frightened me to the core.

A steady stream of curses roared its way through my brain. Leaping as high as I could, my fingers snagged the fence and hauled my body upwards. My sneakers gave me just enough grip to scrabble towards the top. The thudding footsteps of the two big Mediators were already echoing against the brick buildings of the alley.

_Faster… faster… fucking climb FASTER!_

The top of the fence was full of jagged points of rusted metal, but no razor wire. It snagged at the gloves that just barely protected my palms from being shredded as I dragged myself bodily over to the top. I dropped, landing hard in a pile of trash. Totally stuck the landing.

Mediators might be fast and strong, but I’d been prowling the back alleys and cruddy areas of this sector for years. I just needed some breathing room. The rusted car collapsed to the ground when the two giants tried to jump on top of it to get at the fence. They lost their balance, slowing them just enough.

I bolted. My breath was ragged through my makeshift mask, heart pounding from panic and exertion. Three buildings down, then a left, followed immediately by a right. Lungs burning, legs in agony from the pace, but I kept pushing. I could still hear them. Laughter and heavy footfalls. This must have been how a wild animal felt with a pack of hunting dogs bearing down on it.

Rising panic threatened to overtake me, but I swallowed it down. I had to keep my head. Had to think.

Hanging precariously from an abandoned apartment building was my chance at freedom. A fire escape so disused and dangerous that it was covered in police warning tape. I had climbed it – once – and it supported my weight, but just barely. Armin had about lost his shit when he saw me do it. Clambering up onto a dumpster, I leapt up to grab the bottom rung of the dangling ladder. It was stuck in a permanently lowered position, thank fuck. And I started climbing. Dodging trash, broken steps, dangling bits. H.Z. and the giants spotted me when they came around the corner.

 _Move. Faster. Climb. Faster._ The words repeated over and over in my head. Keeping a steady beat with my thundering pulse. If I could just get to the top…

“Lookie lookie! We found our little squirrel and he’s trying to get up a tree!” H.Z. called upwards. I was one flight from the roof and didn’t dare stop to look. Laughter from all three of them was, in some way, even creepier than just H.Z. They were a pack of hyenas nipping at my heels and enjoying every second.

The fire escape lurched as the first of the giants jumped up. It gave off a metallic shriek and the whole rickety piece of shit shuddered. Brick dust flaked off from the points where it held onto the building, the connections weak. Swatting a band of police tape out of my way, I grabbed hold of the final ladder to the roof.

H.Z. was obviously the only smart one in the pack. Risking a quick glance down as I climbed, I saw that the big pair was oblivious to the unsteady state of my escape route. Giant number two jumped up before H.Z. could stop it. I’ll admit it. I grinned despite the fear.

Never in a million years would I have expected it to work this well, but it somehow did. Apparently slamming around a good 500 plus pounds of crazy on rickety metal is not a smart idea. The fire escape started shaking loose from the building. Several of the rusted supports broke free and H.Z. was screaming at the other two Mediators to get down before the whole thing fell. They complied.

It’s not like they thought I’d get away. They figured I was trapped. The sound of wood splintering drifted up and one of the giants disappeared through a doorway into the building. The other started circling the building. In about a minute they would discover the stairwell inside was blocked off and there were no other ways to get to the roof. I had my window.

My eyes locked with H.Z. as it looked up my way. The lead Mediator was grinning like that damn Cheshire Cat from Armin’s favorite book, watching my every move. I shuddered and snapped my head back around. It had felt like it could see straight through into my brain and knew all the rebellious thoughts that burned away inside. The fire always threatening to consume me and my soul along with it.

 ** _Abnormal_**. That’s all I’d be to a Mediator.

“Green. Eyed. Squirrel. Come down!” Each word had a sing-song quality, but every syllable was a threat. My feet landed on the rotting tar paper of the roof. Every fiber, muscle, nerve was screaming at me to stop and rest, but I forced myself to move. The roof was a patchwork of decay, trash, and other wreckage. I did my best to avoid the worst of it, working my way to the far side.

The mega-city’s skyline stretched out in front of me; the towering and bright skyscrapers of the central sector – Mitras – surrounded by the steadily worsening sectors radiating out beyond it. Walls and fences separated some of the sectors from each other, but further out, they had usually fallen into disrepair. The gangs set their own boundaries here. Sector 104.

I looked out over the nearby buildings, worry nagging at the back of my mind. There may have been no fence, but every citizen of this sector, myself included, knew exactly who controlled that area. It was MP territory. For once, though, the risk of getting the shit beat out of me was a better option than whatever horrors awaited at the hands of the Mediators. A narrow alley separated the apartment building from the one next door, probably 15 or so feet away. I poked my head out just far enough over the edge to see the ground below. One of the giants was going around the corner to loop to the far side of the building.

It had to be now.

I was sure that, in hindsight, this would seem like a fucking horrid idea. An extreme lack of options left me with no choice. I backed up from the edge, finding enough of a clear path to give myself a running start. My legs were shaking from adrenaline, exertion, exhaustion… all of the above. Fuck that stupid fight. A short while ago, I was still wanting to thrash Jean’s stupid ass. Now, I was praying to any sort of diety or higher power (laughable, I know) that I’d survive long enough to see his dumbass face again. To see all of them.

Here goes nothing.

My lungs ached when I drew in what was supposed to be a centering breath. The edge and the jump loomed in front of me. Gathering up ever last ounce of strength I ran forward and jumped into the open space. For a split second, I was _flying_. Unfortunately, I didn’t quite make it far enough. _Fuck_. All the wind slammed out in a rush as I landed bodily against the edge of the other roof. Somehow, I kept from shouting out in pain. Probably the fact that I had no air in my lungs to scream with. Keeping my wits about me, I pulled and crawled and climbed until my dangling legs were up onto the roof.

Everything hurt, even breathing. I don’t even remember when I started to be able to do that again. There was no sound, no indication from below that they had heard me. Gravel pressed into my cheek as I took an assessment of my body. Ribs were painful, but they didn’t feel broken. Legs were shaking and threatening to cramp up. Hands and lower arms were covered with scratches from the landing. My clothes were a disheveled mess: headphones dangling and broken, shirt ripped, pants torn at the knee, scarf pulled down from my face. But I was _alive_.

I eased away from the edge, gasping and holding in soft cries. Tears left streaks down my dirty cheeks. With each shaky breath, I moved farther from my pursuers and closer to escape. In a haze of pain – tired, red pain – I crawled to the dangling broken door in the middle of the roof. Inside the stairwell, I hauled myself upright using a dodgy railing and stumbled my way down to the ground level.

Everything blurred together. I stayed on my feet, exiting the building through an empty window frame (someone had pulled away the boards) on the far side of the building. Staggering through filthy alleys between more abandoned structures, I put as much distance as possible between me and my hunters. _A Jaeger, a hunter, being hunted eh?_ I smirked at the thought, but couldn’t summon a laugh. Several long minutes passed before I was deep enough in MP territory to breathe a little easier, at least about the Mediators.

The one nice thing about scary gang leaders, even the Mediators respected their territory. And Kaney Ackerman was one of the most terrifying. If they somehow figured out where I’d gone, it was unlikely they’d follow me, at least until they got permission.

Ducking inside an old warehouse that wasn’t completely falling down, I found a corner to hide in and lick my wounds. Figuratively, of course. Cause, yeah, just gross. I tugged on my headphone wire to pull my phone out. With dismay, I stared at the shattered screen, the transparent device completely unresponsive. Connie would not be a happy camper about having to find me a replacement. Groaning, I ground the heels of my hands into my eyes. Injured, exhausted, and I couldn’t even call for help.

“Fuck my life,” I muttered to the emptiness.

I dug a nutrition bar out of one of my other pockets, wolfing it down. Too bad there was no running water around because I could about kill for something to drink. The cramping feeling in my legs was starting to subside and breathing was getting a little easier at least. I surveyed the damage to my clothes, removing my jacket to flip it inside out. Better to be in all black.

The wait was agonizingly slow as I let my body recover. Damn phone was still not working and I didn’t want to risk messing with it too much. I shoved it back into a pocket along with the pieces of my headphones barely held together with wires. Anxious boredom started to win out against the pain. Struggling to my feet (not as much as before), I crept through the building. As I neared an exit, I heard them.

“Hey hey hey, guys. Looks like we got a trespasser!”

“Hells yeah! And a nice little one at that!”

“Let’s show ‘em what happens when you wander into a place you don’t belong!”

_Fuck. Seriously?_

My eyes darted around, trying to find the source of the voices. No one. Not a soul around. I poked my head around a doorjamb and saw a pack of four thugs in blue and grey surrounding a smaller figure a fair distance away. The rational part of my brain told me to turn around, walk away, get out while they were distracted. Snorting, I shook my head. If I listened to that part, I’d have never met most of the important people in my life. And I couldn’t stand bullies anyways. Especially when they gang up on someone smaller.

The scarf got pulled back up over my mouth, tied tight around my head. Pain forgotten, for the moment, I stepped out of the shadows of my shelter and started towards the group. Their prey wasn’t moving or trying to escape, just standing there and waiting silently. It struck me as a little odd, but I shrugged.

“Oi! Horse fuckers! Four on one seems a bit unfair!” I shouted at them, immediately attracting their attention. One peeled away and stalked in my direction. The remaining three closed in on the other target.

It all happened so fast, I was still processing it by the time the fourth guy reached me. Like some kind of brutal, violent, magnificent, and bloody ballet, the small figure took down three attackers in quick succession with a limited number of blows. The efficiency was _disturbing_. As for me, well, I barely dodged the MP’s first punch, since my dumb ass was so entranced by the fight taking place down the alley. I hopped back, bouncing on my toes and grinned.

“Your friends just got torn the fuck up, buddy,” I taunted, pointing behind him. He turned to look. _Too easy_. I’m such a cheap fucker sometimes, but oh well. I decked him. He fell. I cackled. It felt good after running like a scared little shit for so long. I gave the asshole on the ground a swift kick to the abdomen for good measure. He curled up into a ball, the neon blue unicorn on his back covered in the nasty filth from the pavement. His expression was still painted with fury, unrepentant. I glared down at him and growled, “Shouldn’t pick on people, you human wreckage. Unfit for any place but hell or the fucking MPs.”

Stepping over his prone body, I may have let my foot connect (hard) with his head. Purely an accident. Nothing at all to do with the spit on my shoe, courtesy of the groaning jerkoff on the ground.

The other person was slowly circling the other three gang members, backing further away with each lap. I approached cautiously. His frame was slight, but that looked to be a little deceiving. Well-formed muscles moved under tight black jeans decorated with green, purple, and pink designs. The deep hood of a black jacket prevented me from seeing his face. Splashed across his back was an unfamiliar gang logo: a purple and green rose dripping blood from its thorns.

_Shit. Don’t tell me I walked into some stupid turf war…_

As I got closer, I saw that the left sleeve of the jacket was torn, badly. Actually, sliced would be a better description, given what I saw next. Dripping from a delicate hand was real blood. A trail of drops followed each movement, coming too quickly to be from a small wound. I stopped a short distance away and cleared my throat. The other guy whipped around, gleaming switchblade in hand. My eyes shot over the three men. No blood on them. Must not have needed it to take them down.

Turf war or no, the guy was hurt, alone, and would probably appreciate the help. Better a grateful ally than a pissed off enemy (considering my growing list). Hands up, I gave the guy my best disarming smile. “Hey man, I’m on your side. I hate these asshats too.” He stood up straighter, injured arm still slack next to his body. The blade whirled back into the handle, but stayed gripped in his palm. Pulling back the hood, I was floored for the second time since walking into MP territory.

Brown piercing eyes, long dark hair, and bright red lips. It was the first female face I had seen in over a decade. And she was gorgeous.

_I am so **FUCKED.**_


	2. Violent Delights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These violent delights have violent ends...

I truly hate my existence sometimes.

Since being chased by Mediators wasn’t terrifying enough, fate or destiny or just my horrid shitty luck decided to mix this in. I barely remembered the only woman I had ever known – my mother – and I’d somehow stumbled on this girl deep into one of the male sectors. A girl who could (and probably would) hurt me severely if I made a wrong move. And who was making my heart race more than the damn fight.

I must have done something truly terrible in a past life.

She was staring at me, waiting. Words. Words would be good. “S-Sorry! Not man. Um. Woman. Girl. Fuck. I uh, I’m Eren. Are you ok there?” One of the guys that she had taken down decided to start moving. I made him regret that with a foot to the groin.

“Mi- Mikasa,” she said weakly, staggering on her feet.

“Mi casa?” I repeated, wincing. Shit. Not like my English wasn’t already utter crap. I gave it my best try. “Hablo español muy mal. Dónde es tu casa?”

“No… name's Mikasa,” she corrected me, frowning. Her face had gone from pale to white as a sheet with the minimal effort of staying standing. I took a tentative step forward, worried she wasn’t going to be able to remain upright for much longer.

“Pretty,” I said. “Your name, that is. Though you are too.” Yup, master of the language. And compliments. Though it's not like I had a lot of practice.

She was keeping her distance. In reality, I probably should have kept mine too, but well, I’m not exactly the thinking type. I edged a little closer, holding my hands out loosely along my sides. "You're not looking too good there, Mikasa," I told her gently. "Can I help?"

"'M'fine," she muttered, staggering another step away, trying to keep distance between us. "Dun 'eed help." Her voice was growing weaker. I kept my eyes moving between her face and the hand still gripping the switchblade. The wounded can sometimes be the most dangerous. Less to lose. "Jus' a 'cratch."

_Uh huh, sure thing. You're absolutely peachy_. The amount of blood, her increasingly jumbled speech, and the glassy look overtaking her eyes were not good signs. MPs were known for dirty tricks. She shook her head furiously and observed me coldly through rapidly blinking eyes.

This was getting bad.

“Let. Me. Help. You,” I said, putting as much careful emphasis on each word as I could. With two large strides, I closed the distance. The tip of the blade greeted me, appearing faster than I had thought possible in her state, and pressed under my jaw. It stung, quivering against my skin and threatening to break through. “I won’t hurt you, but you’re bad off. Let me help, please.”

Her gaze held onto mine, full of distrust and confusion. In the end, she didn’t reply. The knife fell away, clattering onto the ground. That pair of icy eyes rolled back so far that only the whites showed. I barely managed to wrap my arms around her body as she crumpled like a ragdoll.

We both got dragged to the ground. But it honestly wasn’t because I’m weak or something. It was just really sudden and she was a lot sturdier than I had expected. Really.

Laying her down as gently as I could, I started digging through the pockets and searching around the unconscious gang members. Any that moaned got a kind greeting from my boot. Just to be sure.

Phones, credits, various baggies of drugs, and weapons. Only one had blood on it. I wrapped it up in a piece of cloth I ripped from one of the thug’s shirts. Another rag got used as a shitty bandage slash tourniquet on Mikasa’s wound. Smashing the hell out of all but one of the phones, I tucked the last one in my pocket along with all the other sundry items. If I didn’t get the hell out of there quick, I was sure to be discovered by some other members soon enough.

The girl – Mikasa – was moaning softly, sweat gathering on her forehead. I knelt down on the concrete next to her, giving her shoulder a soft shake. "Hey, Mikasa, you gotta help me out here. You with it enough to get up?"

All I got as a response was a displeased grunt. Helpful.

I took hold of both her wrists and looped them around my neck. A lot of shifting, tugging, pulling, and nearly falling over followed before I got her onto my back. I won't go into details. It was not something I'm entirely proud of. Tiny waif, she was not.

What came next? Well, I got the fuck out of there.

\-------

Broken playground equipment littered what was essentially a junkyard now, but had been a park a decade before. Struggling my way to the one wayward bench that was not completely rotted away, I stretched Mikasa out on the dirty boards. We were far enough out of the MP territory to be safe.

I found myself a spot of dead grass that was clear of rusty nails and other fun things and flopped down. In hindsight, not the smartest thing. All my aching muscles immediately protested. It was going to be hard to get back up.

Digging the 'borrowed' phone out of my pocket, I pulled up a voice-only call. It'd burn the number for future use, but I hoped he'd forgive me for it. Supposed to be for emergencies, and, well, I thought this pretty much counted as one.

It started ringing. And ringing. And ringing. I worried for a brief moment that he wasn’t going to answer. At the last second, the call connected.

“Yes?” Armin’s cautious voice asked.

“Arm, it’s me.”

“Eren.” He sighed and his tone shifted. “Why are you calling from a weird number? Don’t tell me you lost your phone again. You know better than to call this number with something that trivial.”

“Armin, please. Can you do me a massive solid here?”

There was a beat of silence before another sigh. "I don’t like the sound of this at all."

“Can you um… borrow Reiner’s kit and meet me at 451?”

“Really don’t like the sound of this. Are you hurt?”

“I’ll be fine. Just… hurry, ok?”

The call disconnected without so much as a goodbye. Armin was pissed. Not that I could entirely blame him. I sighed. The lecture was going to be long and painful.

My whole body felt like it was covered in a giant bruise. Everything hurt. Just pausing for that brief moment let it sneak up on me. Really shouldn’t have sat down. Pained groans came from Mikasa, a nice little reminder that someone was a lot worse off than I was.

"Fuck. Last damn time I stick my nose in someone else's business." Another moan from _the_ someone else. As if she knew I was lying to myself.

Her hood had fallen back while she'd been lying on the bench. The sheen from the sweat on her skin almost made her look like she was glowing. Even though I knew just how strong she was, laying like this, she seemed almost fragile and delicate. Beautiful.

Shaking my head furiously, I didn't stop until my neck hurt. Well, hurt more than it had before. "I need to get thoughts like that out of my damn head. I'm a fucking idiot." Because saying it out-loud would hopefully make it stick a bit better. Maybe.

I shoved myself onto my feet and returned to Mikasa’s side. A few gentle slaps to her cheek had her alert enough that I could get her on my back before she passed out again. Her dead weight was at least well distributed this time.

“You make the shittiest backpack ever,” I told her, even though I knew she couldn’t hear me.

\---

To an outsider, the building would have looked like just another rundown, abandoned and closed business. The windows were long gone, the glass shattered during the riots that had torn through this city over a decade ago. Gang tags and other graffiti covered the wood that replaced it. No one bothered to clean it up because no one bothered to care.

Just another empty shell.

Even the back door gave the appearance of disuse. Dirty, beat up, no signs of anyone coming or going. Which was exactly how Armin wanted it to appear. Slouching forward, I was able to free a hand and open a small metal panel, its only distinguishing feature being the numbers '451' scratched into the surface.

Armin once told me that it referenced some book from last century. One he always had trouble finding copies of. He tried getting me to read it for ages. Probably should have. Hell, I should probably do a lot more of what Armin tells me. But I don't. And then I end up in shitty situations like this.

I took a deep breath and pressed the single button under the panel. I knew there was a tiny little camera trained on the area in front of the door, so I looked up and grinned. The locks on the door clanked free, the hinges squeaking as it swung open a crack.

Inside the building was just as much of a disaster of the exterior. At least the room immediately inside the door. The sound of running feet and rattling metal echoed from the interior rooms. Armin burst into the entry dragging a rickety wheelchair behind him and Reiner’s medical bag hanging from his shoulder.

Oversized boots slid to a stop as he saw me. My best friend was in complete panic mode and I felt a pang of guilt for involving him in my stupidity. Armin's pale gentle face went white as a damn sheet beneath the flush from his running. I winced, knowing I probably looked like death warmed over.

His gaze was fixed on the red stains all over my clothes. "Blood's not mine, I swear," I quickly told him. What looked like years worth of worries emptied from his face. It made me feel like utter shit.

Blue eyes flicked up to the hooded head slumped on my shoulder. "His?" he asked, whirling the wheelchair around and pushing it in front of me. I murmured a quiet confirmation. "Lots of it. That's not good."

I turned and bent down, depositing Mikasa as gently as possible into the seat. "We had a run-in with some MPs. Pretty sure they used one of their tainted blades, so I grabbed the one used so you can sort out what's on it."

Armin instantly started digging into the med bag, but - panic now replaced with irritation - launched right into his lecture. "This much blood... It's probably an anti-cog and some other fast acting narc. Why were you in their territory, Eren? You know better. And getting mixed up with some unknown gang member... Have you completely lost your head?" A chem test kit was pulled out of the med bag. “Gimme the knife. And wheel him inside,” Armin ordered. “Not expecting any more company, but better safe than sorry.”

Without even slowing down, oblivious to everything but testing the blade, Armin moved through the building. The metal was quickly swiped over the testing strip and a pleasant voice chirped, "Analyzing." The blonde head bobbed in front of me, looking at the screen of the kit, as Armin dodged various carts, stacks of books, chairs, and odds and ends like he had a second set of eyes. The 451 was his domain. An extension of himself.

Guilt stabbed my gut again. "Arm," I called out, trying - mostly unsuccessfully - to keep up with him. I have no clue how he got the wheelchair to the front so easily and quickly.

"It'll just take about 30 seconds for the analysis to run. Hold on," he yelled back without looking. The knife, no longer needed, was dropped into a biohazard bin as he buzzed past.

"Armin!"

"We have to hurry up and get him to the clean room. It's the easiest one to sanitize and keep any infection down." He was practically sprinting now. I knocked over a small table trying to stick to him. Mikasa wobbled dangerously in the seat.

"Armin Wilfred Arlert!"

He stopped. And turned around completely. He hated being called his full name. Bad memories of people long gone. But it was the only way to get his attention when he would get like this. I felt yet another pang of guilt and knew it wasn't going to be the last. Especially not today.

I reached down and gave the material of Mikasa's hood just enough of a tug to make it fall back from her head. Armin looked at her for the first time. His face, pale from how little it saw the sun, went utterly white. The beeping from the test kit was ignored as he set the device on a nearby shelf.

Swiftly closing the distance, Armin retreated back to where I was waiting and panting like a dog. I couldn't read his expression. The face I'd known almost my whole life was completely fucking unrecognizable. Those intelligent blue eyes, usually glued to a book, were frozen on the woman between us.

"Arm-"

"Stop," he hissed. When he finally looked up at me, his thoughts became crystal - and painfully - clear.

I had no idea he could punch that hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit it. I haven't been exactly the most... speedy of writers. I haven't forgotten this one though. It's just lower on my totem pole than it probably should be.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [Tumblr](http://valkyrie-reborn.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Feedback greatly appreciated. This is DRASTICALLY different from what I normally write.
> 
> I don't normally ship Eren and Mikasa very heavily, mainly due to their brother/sister type of bond. However, in this world, they would not have known one another. Expect a lot more SNK characters to appear as members of the various gangs.


End file.
